


Art Critic

by hjea



Category: Firefly
Genre: Art, Core Finery, Dirty Vendors, F/M, Pre-Serenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece of art catches Mal's eye in the market place, and reminds him painfully of something he has lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Critic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 11/22/05.

He still wasn't sure how it caught his eye, tucked away in the corner like it was, but he was on his way back from another unpleasant meeting with Badger, when he stopped short in front of the little art vendor's stall and turned to stare at the portrait.    
  
Whoever the artist was, he had obvious talent, for there was no doubt in his mind about who was staring back at him from behind the dusty frame. She was younger, that was for sure, probably no more than 17 or 18, but little more than that had changed. Same dark hair tumbling down onto bare shoulders, lips curved upwards in that knowing smile, chin lifted proudly though without arrogance; she was everything that she had been when she had left Serenity and gone her own way three months before. There was only one thing, something that he couldn't put his finger on, that was off about her.    
  
The short, dirty vendor sidled up to where he stood transfixed and grinned wolfishly up at him before crossing his arms over his bulging stomach and turning to stare appreciatively at the picture.    
  
"Pretty, en't she?"    
  
He grunted in reply and shifted to the side to try and get away from the man's smell.    
  
"Nah, pretty don't do 'er justice. Gorram beautiful, in a way to make a man all sorts a’ willin’."    
  
Her skin glowed on the canvas, even in the dim light, the same way it did in the candlelight of her shuttle or the low lights of the kitchen during late-nights around the table.    
  
"She's come straight from the central core, from Sihnon or some such high and mighty place. A real piece a' finery. You can have 'er cheap, a real deal you wouldn't get nowhere else, I can tell you."   
  
There was no background, or at least nothing more than blurred shapes, the artist having devoted all his skills to capturing her. To just her.   
  
"Look at those eyes - they're just beggin' you to take her home, how 'bout it?"    
  
He stared at her again, watched as she watched him through the frame and then finally figured out what was wrong. It was the eyes; warm and kind, they looked at him with such... longing.   
  
He spared a glance down at the little man. "No. Sell her to someone else."    
  
He turned sharply away, coat billowing behind him as he strode back to Serenity.    
  
"She was never mine to have."


End file.
